Climbing and Running

I have an interesting relationship with climbing. To begin, it is my profession. I'm not a professional climber, but I'm a routesetter by trade. My job is to make plastic rock climbs (simulations of the real deal). It's a very cool job, and in my current stage of life it allows me to pay the bills and also attend school.

Being a routesetter forces me to climb. I must maintain enough of a climbing "base" to be able to forerun the routes I put up (at least most of them). Being able to climb at work is convenient because it allows me to spend a lot of my free-time running, or cycling when I get the chance. 

Many of the setters I work with are strong climbers; very strong. In order to climb at an elite, or even high-caliber level, climbing must take priority over all other recreational activities. The same is true with all sports and hobbies. I have struggled with this reality for a few years. 

Typical day at work (ROCK'n & JAM'n) 

I want to be a strong climber. I also want to be a fast runner. Since I am not willing to choose between the two sports, I am neither. 

Which brings me to the focus of my rant.

During the last two seasons, I believe I discovered my niche sport, which is combining my two favorite passions: running and climbing.

Over the last 10 years or so I honed strong enough climbing and running abilities/skills so that I can now mix the two for what I would like to call fast alpine-style ascents of big mountains. The key to quick ascents is possessing a strong aerobic fitness level, and being comfortable on easier rock climbs. When ascending many of Colorado's 14ners, often the fastest routes (and sometimes the only routes) are up 4th, 5th, and beyond 5th class terrain. If an individual is able to move over these terrains with speed and confidence, then a day in the hills becomes much more convenient. This is important to me, because I don't have the luxury of time.  

I discovered that I can accomplish much more with my time now that I've started to train my body for speedy alpine ascents. Currently I can maintain my climbing fitness at work, and spend what extra time I have logging miles on the trail. Not a bad situation. 

I hope that this summer and fall I will be able to leverage the convenience of my current situation, and accomplish the lofty ascents I have in mind...

2012 Leadville Silver Rush 50 Run

Some Background: 

I started training for this race in October 2011. I'm not much of a runner, and was very aware of that when I clicked "register" on Leadville's website.

I have a very small and insignificant history in triathlon. My strongest facet of triathlon is/was swimming, followed quickly by cycling, and slowly by running... very slowly. Nonetheless, it's not as though I entered training for this race as a really fat guy (just a kinda-fat guy).

I love triathlon. I love multisport events, period. I find that I've never been exceptionally strong at one sport, but instead I've always been mediocre at many (this may be due to my inability to stay focused on one thing for too long, and my unhealthy curiosity in all things). This year I am overly busy though- with family, work and school on my plate, I was forced to forfeit triathlon and focus solely on running. My budget only affords me some shoes and some time here and there. 

Let me give a brief history: As a kid, I was first a swimmer, then I ran track, then I did Ironkids triathlons for a few years. During that time I also did mainstream sports like baseball, basketball, soccer, wrestling, and football. In high school I ran into shoulder problems and underwent a surgery that eliminated me from all sports except swimming. Even within swimming I was limited to breaststroke (keep your comments to yourself). After high school I focused my efforts on rock climbing and skiing, with climbing taking up most of my calendar year. 

Then in late 2009 I watched the Ironman world championships on television. A crazy idea started bouncing around in my head, and for my Christmas present that year I bought a road bike and signed up for the 2010 Ironman 70.3 in Boulder, Co. I did well in the event, and from there I was back to my roots; endurance events. 

With this background, naturally I wanted a challenging race, preferably something on trail, in the mountains, with lots of climbing, and lots of miles. The Leadville Silver Rush fit the bill. This year I ran my first marathon (during a training run). I did not train a lot of miles/week (about 25 miles). I ran one 20 mile run (on the Leadville course), one 25 mile run, and one 30 mile long run (about 3 weeks out).

The Race:

It was, amazing. No words could ever capture or relate how perfectly awesome of a day it was.

The night before the race we stayed at Peri and Ed's which was a pretty good mountain culture experience (interesting to say the least). I had a mediocre sleeping experience that evening and before long I found myself awake at 4:30 am, long before the butt crack of dawn. It was dark and cold, and I ate a thick slice of banana bread at 5 am to prime the engines.

At the race start I was surprisingly calm amidst the hustle and bustle of bodies. I was trying not to think about the race too much, and really trying to take in the whole experience. I was there with some great friends and my wife, who ran to the top of Dutch Henry Hill moments before the count-down in order to capture some pictures and video. My plan at that point was to find my wife at the top of the hill and steal a kiss before heading out for the long day.

Coming in for the kiss!

After the kiss, I ran  the first section with my good buddy Robear, who was in from California specifically for the race. We kept a very easy pace to the first aid station and after about the hundredth person passed us, I told him, "We have a long day ahead of us. We'll get to pass many of these guys/gals later. Slow and steady." This turned out to be the case.

Robear with the kiddos shortly after he arrived.

We parted after Black Cloud (the first aid station, mile 7). Robear's lungs weren't quite as acclimated as mine so from that point we each endeavored toward our own vision quest.

As I came into Printer Boy (the second aid station, mile 13.5) the wives (not all mine) were waiting to help refuel each of us. In addition to Robear, I had 3 other buddies running the race. We all trained together at several points throughout the year, booked rooms at Ed and Perri's together, ate breakfast together, and all toed the starting line together that morning. Our plan was to head out as a group, and then separate naturally as we each found our own pace. Oddly enough, we were all separated quicker than planned by the mayhem start up Dutch Henry Hill, and only Robear and I ran together at the start. From the first aid station I ran solo until about mile 30. At this particular aid station, I grabbed a quick bite to eat, filled water, and changed my socks. I was out of the aid quickly with the information that I was 15 minutes or so behind John, Cody, and Brian. "Those guys are cooking it, or I'm really dragging ass," I thought to myself. Then I thought about the hill I had just come down into the aid station. It was a looooong downhill, and I realized I would have to run up that hill on my way back, at mile 35 or so. I proceeded, slow and steady.

The next section of course was up and around Ball Mountain, and over a pass at 12k feet. It was probably the most difficult section of the course for most, but I felt great on it because I trained so much elevation/climbing over the winter. Instead of focusing on the long run, I spent a lot of time running steep stuff. I still did a few long runs (one 25 miler and one 30 miler), but that was it. This paid off, and I made up a lot of time over the pass, and I passed people like crazy on the climbs.

When I reached the turn-around point at Stumptown (mile 25) I ran into Brian. He was just leaving. I asked him if he had seen John and Cody, and he had not. They must have been leading the whole way. He hit the trail and I started looking for the wives. They were not there. I was super bummed because Amber had my Hammer gels. I LOVE Hammer gels and can't eat anything else on long runs, and, I'm currently addicted to the huckleberry and raspberry flavors. The gels provided on the course were disgusting (mostly chocolate and vanilla flavors) and I could barely stomach them. Luckily I discovered something amazing at the aid station; watermelon with salt on it, and this is what powered me to the finish.

As I started the climb back up and over the pass, I was in good spirits. This was mainly due to my run-in with Robear. He was coming into the turn around and looking good! I was super psyched to see him looking so strong, and we stopped to catch up and exchanged some encouraging words.

From there I continued my climb. I passed several people who had pulled off the side of the trail and were puking their guts out. Some were bent over with their heads between their legs, trying to find oxygen. My plan of taking it out easy was paying off. I had a lot of pep in my legs and power hiking felt good. I caught Brian near the top of the pass and we started running down the other side together. He told me to take off and try to get 10 hours, so I wished him luck and gassed it. I powered up and around Ball Mountain for the second time of the day and reached the top (Rock Garden aid station, mile 30) only to be met by a short-lived rain/hail storm. It actually felt kind of nice, providing a little reprieve to my overheating body.

I then began to charge downhill back to the Printer Boy aid station (mile 34.5). On my way I saw John and Cody a few hundred yards in front of me. I yelled to them, "Here comes the SAG Wagon" as I let off the gas and decided to run with them for a few. John and Cody were doing a cycle run/walk thing, so we would walk for a few minutes, then run a few. This was definitely a change of pace, and started throwing me off a little, but we weren't far from the Printer Boy aid station at this point so I continued with them.

We hung out at Printer Boy for a few, and Brian caught up with us. He wasted no time at the station though and we watched as he came, saw, conquered, and left the aid station in a blur. It was a good call, as I was beginning to feel my legs solidify from standing still. "Let's go," I told the boys, and we hit the trail.

A quick pic at Printer Boy, inbound.

We were now beginning the climb up the looooong hill we came down at the beginning of the race. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but we walked most of it. I was feeling pretty good and wanted to run, but something happened suddenly. I decided to call it. This was my first 50 miler, and I decided in my mind that I would come back for another one. As we walked up the dirt road I envisioned myself as an old man, and realized that I wouldn't tell my kids or my grandchildren stories about how fast I ran my first 50 miler. Instead, I would tell them how awesome it was, how beautiful the mountains were, and how much fun I had with the guys I trained for and ran it with. So out the window went my 10 hour goal.

I must say that it would have been a lot easier on my body to continue with my slow and steady running pace, because I trained for steady running. The on/off run/walk thing was really beginning to take a toll on my legs.

The last aid station was Black Cloud again (mile 40) and I got my last fix of watermelon and salt before heading down the home stretch. We bumped into Brian again right as he was leaving the aid. The last 10 miles were amazing and I mean this in the most sarcastic way possible.

It rained. It rained some more. And it rained a little more.

I read and heard rumors about chaffing from many endurance athletes. With only a few miles to go I began to experience this chaffing business, which I'm sure was the result of having completely soaking wet shorts (courtesy the torrential downpour). I will say this about the chaffing experience: it was *indescribably awful!

*Enduring chaffing while running is like rubbing your face on a piece of sandpaper with glass shards glued to it, except your face is your adductor and your shorts are the sandpaper with glass shards.

While I endured the chaffing, we continued to run short distances (really fast) and then walk, run short distances (really fast), and then walk. I told John that I couldn't run that pace anymore, it was tearing up my legs. In reality, the three of us were falling apart. I suggested we try to run it in all the way at a slow pace, which we did for awhile. Then we hit the last half mile or so, which kicked up the back of Dutch Henry Hill. About 100 feet in front of us we saw Brian standing on top of the hill. We were walking at this point, but could hear the finish line announcer and the music. Feeling motivated, we began to run.

The Finish:

Instead of running the beginning of the race together, we ended up crossing the finish line together. Very funny.

The finish line was teeming with emotions that are difficult to describe. My body was strangely out of balance (chemically). I was exhausted, but at the same time, my brain was ready to celebrate. Several times during the race I envisioned the finish line. When this happened, I got really emotional (while I was running). When you put so much training into an event, it's a bit surreal when you find yourself actually participating in that event. It took a couple of days to sink in I think. There were many hugs and high-fives at the finish, but I think everyone really just wanted to get the crap home, take a shower, and hit the sack. It was a long day.

Amber didn't have to do much at the aids. Just seeing her was enough motivation.

Cody, John, Me

Me and Brian.

What happened to Robear?

He finished his vision quest also. Watching him run under that banner was one of the most inspiring things I've ever witnessed. I'm not sure what he found out there on the trail, but I'm pretty sure it was worth it. I'd love to read a recap from him someday.

Hats off Leadville!

Yep, they're real silver! Actually, they're probably not. Yeah, definitely not.

Next year I'll be back for more. Perhaps more mileage also, as I find myself intrigued by the Leadville 100...

Race director Ken Chlouber is correct; 

"You're better than you think you are, you can do more than you think you can."

Buchanan and Pawnee Pass Loop

Ouch.


This one hurt.


I read a few blogs describing this run, but reading accounts from others never really does the hard stuff any justice. This is another one of those endeavors you have to experience first hand to truly appreciate the difficulty. 


After an abrupt four hours of sleep, my alarm went off at 3:30 am. It was too dark to be awake. I managed to put on my smelly running clothes (they've reached the point of no return- that is- they will never smell normal again), grabbed the bag of gear I packed much too late the night before, and walked out the door (still half asleep).


I met up with Brian at the base of Boulder canyon and we made our way up the curvy road to the pay station at Brainard (and as an aside, it's now $9 for a pass!). Anyway, we parked at the Long Lake TH and got out of the car. It was a very beautiful morning and the sun was already lighting the mountain ridges high above us.

Audubon TH 

We hit the trail (or road actually at this point) at 5:45 am. Our plan was to run a short stretch of road over to the Mitchel Lake TH so we could do a counter-clockwise loop for the day. Running this direction was going to be more difficult since it meant we'd have to do Pawnee pass at the end of the day, and it's higher than Buchanan. But, I figured we could just consider the first half of the run a warm-up for Pawnee <-- brilliant.


We started up the base of Mt. Audubon. I've run this mountain before in my younger years, and I must say that it is a great peak for those interested in trying out a big mountain (a good beginner peak) at 13 thousand some odd feet high and nothing too incredibly technical.


After some switchbacks, we came upon a sign  marking the juncture that lead us down toward Coney Flats. Good thing Brian was on top of this turn (like usual) because I was thinking it was higher up. This section was a bomber downhill, and before we knew it, we were at the junction of Coney Flats. We took a quick picture by the stream, while the sun made it's official debut for the day.

Brian soaking up the early morning rays.

The climb up Buchanan was immediately upon us. Steady, gradual climbing greeted us like a cold slap in the face- or maybe that was just the gale force winds. No kidding- the wind was literally 30-40 mph, and was taking our breath away (as if it isn't already hard enough to find oxygen at 11 thousand feet). Several times it swept across the barren tundra, nearly knocking our bodies over.


At this point I was experiencing a weird feeling (which I thought was altitude sickness). I've never had altitude sickness, so I was racking my brain trying to figure out what was going on as I trudged along. I realized I was drinking more-than-a-week-old Perpetuem, and after making Brian aware of my situation, he was certain that I should pour it out and switch over to straight water. 


After we topped Buchanan pass we quickly got moving down the backside, as the winds were even stronger on the summit. As we dropped down, we spooked two huge bull elk in the meadow below us and they bolted across the grass to seek shelter below tree-line. I've never seen an elk run (they're always standing around in RMNP or eating grass like cattle on the golf course in Estes Park). It was an amazing sight to behold, much like all the scenery on the backside of the Continental Divide (which we had just crossed).


I stopped to filter some water (bringing my Katedyne was the smartest thing I did in preparation for this run), and within minutes of guzzling down some fresh water, my system was back on track.


The run from that point on was amazing. We were truly in wild country, seeing only a handful of backpackers (I think no more than 5) from Buchanan pass all the way to Pawnee. The trail was pretty fast, minus a few downed trees that we were forced to maneuver over, around, or through. It was a long and steady downhill all the way to the next junction at Cascade Creek.    

The Cascade Creek junction marked the beginning of the most difficult section, which was unquestionably the climb up to, and over Pawnee pass. It was a daunting trek of continuous uphill, that got steeper and steeper the closer we got to the pass. Near the beginning of the true climb up the pass, we exited the woods and stepped into a large, open, rocky bowl enclosed by the sharp peaks above us. It was quite the sight. The trail was nearly impossible to decipher from below, as it made tight switchbacks up the huge boulder field.

Here's a vid of us starting Pawnee Pass.

Here's a vid of us finishing Pawnee Pass.

The section up the switchbacks was very slow going. After what seemed like hours, even days of hiking, the top of the pass was within sight, and I found a new energy in my legs. The incline faded a bit at the top and the summit of the pass became a wide grassy mound from which we could see all the surrounding Indian Peaks. It was amazing to again be standing atop the Divide! Long Lake was in view below us and we could almost see the parking lot.

Nearly 6 hours had passed since our departure, and all we had left was a bomber four mile(ish) decent to the parking lot. Too bad the temperature was now pushing into the high 80s (maybe even low 90s?), and the wind had ceased. Brian and I stopped for a fast bathroom break to discover we were both quickly heading toward dehydration. I immediately forced down a half-liter of water and nipped that one in the bud. The lower we got, the more the reality of re-entering civilization began to sink in. The trail began to get more populated, and before long we found ourselves in tourist central.

With about a mile or two to go I sucked on the mouthpiece of my Camelback only to discover that I was out of water. Not wanting to stop and filter again, we pressed on, hoping the trailhead would be around the next turn, then the next, then the next. It was the longest last mile ever.

Just when we felt like we were going to collapse, finally, the parking lot.

What a day!

I'm not sure what the stats are, but they're available somewhere. I do know it was around 26 miles, and that there was a lot of climbing. And we clocked in somewhere around 6 hours 45 minutes of run time. 

I will end with this: Whether you're considering running this loop in a day, or you're considering an over-nighter, this trail is AWESOME (and every bit worth the effort)!

I plan to return in the fall, just so I can see the change of colors/ foliage. 

My legs after the beating. Four days later I did Arapahoe Pass and my ankles were STILL unbelievably sore from getting thrashed on the technical! Worth every ache though.